Growin Pains
by Charlie Yubari
Summary: There were, of course, drawbacks to being raised in such an environment. A series of drabbles about Gogo Yubari


Gogo Yubari executed her first fatality at age eight.

Deaths weren't terribly uncommon at the School, though death by neglect was avoided stringently. The children were valuable commodities; fully-trained assassins and bodyguards of a young age were popular amongst crime bosses and drug dealers and politicians alike. Nutritionally and physically they were probably the healthiest children in Japan.

Training sessions, understandably, could be rough; but those that died despite the medical facilities available were considered unworthy of the effort it would have taken to fully train them.

Deaths during the children's free time were rare. But not unheard of.

When the Teachers were finally alerted to what was going on, they found Gogo stomping fiercely on a boy's chest the way other girls might have bounced on a trampoline, her little sister watching avidly from the ground behind her.

"Stop!"

The command was in English. The Teachers were international; they spoke interchangably in Japanese, English and Chinese . Their charges were not. They were expected to understand other languages, not speak them. Their nationality was part of their novelty.

Gogo stopped. Glared. Moved away from the body - it was clear, even from a distance, that that was all the boy was now. She was too young to understand something she'd never experienced, so there was no tenderness as she pulled her sister to her feet; but when she met a questioning gaze her only response was "he was mean to Yuki," and it was enough.

She took the younger girl's hand and lead her through the small crowd.

"Gogo?"

Gogo stirred, barely waking. She shifted over in her bunk and felt the small, warm body climb in next to her. When they were very small (at the grand age of ten, she was able to think in such terms) Yuki would have nightmares and crawl into Gogo's bed, crying. Gogo never understood that. Tears didn't make sense, and besides, why be afraid of something that wasn't real?

"Don't be scared," she'd whisper. "I'll kill them away for you."

If Yuki had nightmares any more she didn't show it. But she slept in Gogo's bed most nights nonetheless, mumbling softly under her breath, both of them aware that Gogo wasn't really listening to the words but the sound of Yuki's voice easing them both into dreams.

Still half asleep, Gogo curled protectively around her sister. Yuki wasn't harmless, of course, but she was HERS, and Gogo wouldn't let anything touch her, anything harm her. She was mumbling something about today's classes, the rhythm of her speech familiar and warm and safe.

Gogo smiled, and dreamed good dreams.

There were, of course, drawbacks to being raised in such an environment.

Gogo was twelve years old, and she was in Tokyo alone: a treat for being their star pupil. They had given her money, and directions, and a number to call when she wanted to return.

The money was a token gesture only - the pupils didn't even own themselves, never mind anything that the fancy shops around her could offer - and she was beginning to feel bored. The freedom to wander in a strange place without friends or aquaintances when you've never been your own person isn't always a gift. Most of the pupils accorded such an honour returned within hours, shaking and bewildered. Perhaps it was intentional.

But Gogo knew how to make her own fun.

The man sitting next to her made a funny face when she plunged the sword into his stomach, funny enough to make her giggle. The screams and yells of the people around confused her, though. There were so many of them in this city: surely they must be used to this by now? Why would they react so strongly?

She frowned, cleaning her sword on the man's jacket. When someone came and clapped a hand on her shoulder she killed him too, and then the uproar got worse. It didn't make any _sense_ - what did they _expect_ her to do? Not that it wasn't fun - _jump, lunge, rip_ - but why the screaming? Why the surprise? Didn't they know they were going to be used up like this?

And that was what she was thinking when something slammed into her head.

Blackness.

It never occurred to Gogo to wonder at how many strings were pulled and by who to keep her out of prison. She was sent to an experimental therapy centre for children and young people with "anger problems". Gogo had problems feeling any emotion strongly: she found the therapy sessions either vaguely amusing or - like everything else - boring.

Gogo didn't have an anger problem; she had a boredom problem, an empathy problem. The methods that worked admirably for normal children washed over her, and she saw no reason not to start fights if she felt like it.

She also refused to speak, which didn't help much.

A woman came to visit her one day: white, petite, dark-haired. With the exception of her sister, people were just _people_ to Gogo; there wasn't much to distinguish them, one for another. Gogo watched her silently.

"I'm Sofie," the woman said. Her Japanese was perfect, with only the merest hint of an accent. Her smile was porcelain perfect, and Gogo wondered how much prettier her lips would look twisted into a scream. "I have a proposition for you."

Gogo tilted her head slightly.

"Have you ever heard of the Crazy 88?"


End file.
